Nikki Morrissey, 8, was a prolific writer and one of the most popular students in her Albany third-grade class. Her 6-year-old sister, Kim "Elena" Morrissey, was just starting to emerge from her sister's shadow at Cornell Elementary School and at home.

Their mother, Dr. Mamiko Kawai, 40, made house calls, gave shoulder massages to elderly patients and helped patients experiencing everything from pregnancy to paralysis to problem skin to an eye injury. Kawai's husband, Kevin Morrissey, 51, took time to listen to friends when they had problems.

This is how the Berkeley family of four -- who died in a murder-suicide in Tilden Park in the East Bay hills last week -- were remembered by grieving friends at a memorial service Tuesday evening.

A standing-room-only crowd of several hundred people packed the auditorium at Alta Bates Summit Medical Center in Berkeley to pay their respects to the family, trying to make sense of a tragedy that suddenly left them grieving for four people at the same time. Framed pictures of the girls with pets or in costume sat on a table.

Many in attendance had been patients of Kawai, who had been affiliated with Alta Bates before she left her full-time practice in Albany to open the Aura Laser Skin Care clinic in an adjacent office, where her husband worked the front desk.

On June 18, Morrissey shot and killed his wife and his children before turning a .357 Magnum on himself in the Mineral Springs parking lot of Tilden Park, East Bay Regional Park police said. In a typewritten note found in his pocket, Morrissey said the couple had reached a "financial breaking point," police said.

On Tuesday, the memorial was laced with sadness and humor, anger and guilt. Mourners wanted to know if they had missed any warning signs. Morrissey's resume lists a stint in the Army, and one man said the tragedy reflected society's need to rail against military training and guns. At least two speakers questioned Morrissey's sanity, including one woman who said Morrissey committed a "pure, cowardly act of selfishness."

At the outset of the memorial, the Rev. Carrie Buckner, director of Alta Bates chaplaincy services, urged mourners to be "sensitive to the depth of grief and anger we're all experiencing in this room."

Dr. Kenneth Gjeltema, who had worked with Kawai, recalled how the girls would ride their scooters in their mother's Albany office after patients had left. "While patients were there," Gjeltema corrected himself, eliciting laughter.

Gjeltema minced no words in describing Morrissey's actions. "I am really upset. He did something terrible." Still, Gjeltema said Morrissey was a loving father whom he had gone to for advice. His memory of Morrissey's kindness and generosity won't change, despite the last few hours of his life, Gjeltema said.

Zakeadra Bradley, 19, said Kawai was calm and soothing with her when she went to the doctor for stitches near her eye. As Bradley's relatives got angry at her for "screaming and yelling and hollering, Kawai seemed to be the only nice person in the room," Bradley said.

"Let's not grieve over what happened but celebrate the times we had with her," Bradley told the audience.

Dr. Nina Birnbaum, who took over many of Kawai's patients after she left her practice, said their friend is "not gone." "She's in every one of those charts" and the notes she made of all her patients, Birnbaum said.

Kawai's sister, Roko Kawai, 42, of Philadelphia thanked mourners for sharing their memories. She also left the audience laughing as she recalled how she visited the skin-care clinic and her nieces would try to put her under the laser.

When Roko Kawai said she was concerned about an extremely long hair growing out of her chin, the younger girl innocently asked, "What's wrong with your hair? Is it dangerous or something?"